


Wandering Child

by KaenOkami



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Backstory, Child Abandonment, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Blood, emotional manipulation in the form of hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaenOkami/pseuds/KaenOkami
Summary: Companion to Phantom Thief.Emerald doesn't like to think about the last time she saw her mother. But all that's bottled up has to come out eventually.





	Wandering Child

_"Is anything better than finally finding your way home? Is anything worse than finally reaching home, and finding that you're still lost?"_  
\- Matt Stover

~0~

The detachment of Emerald from home had been a gradual process. 

She would do anything not to think about the very beginning of that process: unlocking her Semblance and getting herself quite literally thrown out of her mother’s home for it. There was about as much point to _that_ as there was to taking a knife and slashing a stitched-up gash back open. Even all these years later, the shrill echo of the word _freak_ still bounced painfully off the walls of her skull, and she could feel the sharp sting of hair being yanked from her scalp and the ache of a tiny arm being twisted and pulled by something much bigger and stronger. Better to run from that pain than to linger on it. 

Even so, if she had been able to, she would have been able to pinpoint the stages she had wandered through since then. The layers of childhood naivete had stripped themselves away slowly, to be replaced by a solid guard of steel around her heart. First to go had been her hope that she would one day return home. She’d wandered the slums of Mitsubachi City with an unbearable tightness in her chest, imagining on loop that her mother would come running after her, scoop her up and carry her all the way back home, tell her how she had overreacted and how she was so, so sorry...a fantasy so stupid that it made her snort with derision now. Just the idea of the words, “I’m sorry, Emerald,” passing genuinely from Beryl Sustrai’s lips was laughable.

That stage hadn’t taken long to dissipate, in the long run. Only a few months. The next one had taken a couple years to let go of: the idea that someone else would one day come along to replace her mother. In the adventure stories and fairy tales she had read when she was little, if someone had a bad family, there would always be some great force of good that came to sweep them away, to someplace where they would be protected and happy. Perhaps her long-lost father, making his miraculous return to her life after going off to “work” one morning and never coming back. She still had one parent left, didn't she? He had said that he wasn’t leaving forever, hadn’t he?

It had taken her years to understand what her mother had known the instant she’d read his note: that it was all bullshit. Her father had abandoned them, thrown her away just as surely as her mother had. She knew she couldn’t call herself an orphan in the technical sense, but to have parents who wanted nothing to do with you had to be just as bad, the way she saw it.

The last thing to go had been something that Emerald hadn’t even realized she was hanging on to. Ever since being ousted from her childhood home, she had been roaming the streets of the city like a stray dog; sleeping on them, scrounging for food on them, and becoming intimately familiar with them. But that did not make them her home. For five years that stretched and blurred together into an endless torture, she had been operating under the impression that this was a temporary way of life. One day, far off as it might be, things would be better. Somewhere out there, was a place where she would be safe, where she belonged. There was someone who could find it in themself to love her.

How _stupid_ she was. There was no person like that, and the only place that she would ever belong was the filth and hopelessness of Mitsubachi. Slowly but surely, her vantage points narrowed, until all that was left on her mind were surviving to the end of the day and finding a safe place to sleep at night. Tomorrows were both a luxury, and a cracked concrete road spiraling away into nothing. 

So, on this particular winter day, that had begun no differently than any other, the only things Emerald had been thinking about was how to ease the ever-present pain in her stomach, and how to protect herself from the coming bitter cold. She wandered away from her usual haunts downtown, checking her red and numb fingers for signs of frostbite in between bouts of blowing on them and furiously rubbing them together. She knew, logically, that it could not set in so fast, but she had seen bodies, living and dead alike, with blackened and missing digits. She could not afford to take any chances.

This line of thought so distracted her, that at first she had passed by the alleyway completely. 

She had entirely missed the puddle of fresh blood on the concrete, the shaking body curled tightly into itself against the brick wall, or the old backpack torn to shreds around it. It wasn’t the pained moaning and coughing itself, but the familiarity of it, that made Emerald do a double take and whip around to take a closer look. By now, she had come to pride herself on casting aside childish tendencies, and becoming as tough and guarded as any other criminal in this city. What she saw—what she _recognized_ —at the end of the alley shattered all of that in a split second. The next thing Emerald knew, she was throwing herself forward and screaming, in a way she never thought she would again.

_“Mom! MOM!”_

The long brick alleyway passed in a blur, and she skidded to a stop, on her knees in the blood puddle. The part of her that was frozen instead of going wild with panic noted that Beryl Sustrai hadn’t changed one bit in the past five years. Same thinning, dark green ponytail curling over her shoulder, same worn-out jacket and faded jeans, same hissing of anger coming from between her clenched teeth, as she pressed down with both hands on her bleeding stomach. But when the woman lifted her head—blood trickling from her mouth down her chin as well—to see who was screaming for her, whose hands were pawing at her arms and shoulders, her dark eyes were shot wide with wonder and shock, both things that Emerald had never seen on this face before.

“E...Emerald...?” Breathless, as if she were seeing a ghost. “That’s...i-is that you?”

Tears were spilling down Emerald’s face now, as she looked through her mother’s fingers at the ragged bullet hole in her gut, but she was far too frightened to be embarrassed about them. “Yeah...it’s, it’s okay, Mom. I-I’m here. Who...who did this?!”

Beryl didn’t seem to be listening to her. She lifted one shaking, blood-slick hand to Emerald’s face, thin fingertips brushing her cheek, as though to make sure that the girl was really there. Her nails were just as sharp as Emerald remembered. “Oh, gods...you’ve grown up...”

The blood on her fingers ran four thick, warm-wet trails down Emerald’s face. The blood on her stomach was gushing like water over Emerald’s own fingers, as she ripped a large chunk out of her already-tattered pant leg to wad up and press against the gaping hole. So much, oh, gods please help her, too much...She had to get her mother out of here, she couldn’t save her here. She didn’t know where to go or what to do, but...not here, at least.

“I-it’s okay, Mom,” she choked out again, trying to slide her arms under her mother’s back and shoulders. But it was no good, she was too small, too weak, and Beryl was already deadweight. “I...I’m gonna help you...please, work with me here!”

Beryl made no effort to help Emerald by lifting herself off the ground. Though her eyes were quickly hazing over, there was a certain glint in them. Her blue-tinged lips pressed into the same thin, grim, but satisfied smile that they always would when a customer pressed Lien into her hand. 

“Emerald...baby doll...” Not quite a soft, affectionate lilt, but it was Beryl’s best attempt at it.

“Don’t, no, don’t try to talk, Mom!” That was what dying—no, no, what _hurt_ people were supposed to do, right? Save their energy? If it was, her mother hadn’t seemed to get the memo, still caressing her face and forcing more words out. 

“Emerald. Sh-show me something. Make...make me s-see something.”

Emerald stopped short. “Wh... _what?”_

Beryl was still smiling blissfully. “Y-you can do it...make me see something. So...so it won’t hurt, wh-when I...”

Emerald’s blood ran colder than the winter wind around them, as the meaning sunk in. There was static in her suddenly-aching brain. For one long moment, she was eight years old again, tiny and terrified, her mother’s fury at her newfound ability a huge and monstrous thing. Her Semblance awakening had changed everything. She was no longer Beryl’s tolerated daughter, but a mind-altering parasite worming its way into her head, like her father before her. 

_(“You won’t ever do that to me again! I don’t care where you go, just get away from me!”_

_“Mama!”_

_“No! GET OUT!”)_

She remembered being thrown against the wall, being dragged by her hair away from her mother and her home. She remembered sobbing herself sick, stumbling alone through the darkening streets with an arm that refused to bend with pain, just wanting her mama, wanting to go _home._

She remembered. She always would, no matter how many walls she tried to hide the memories behind. Had Beryl thought she would have _forgotten?!_

Her blood was roaring in her ears, and she felt her fingers tightening on her mother’s shoulders, nails digging in hard. The smile was fading from Beryl’s face, replaced with a look of confusion that only enraged Emerald more. Her heart pounded painfully, and her head felt lighter with every second. 

_Now_ she was acting sweet to her?! When she _wanted_ something?! After everything...After _everything—!_

Her lips curled into a furious snarl, and the voice that growled up from the back of her throat was more a beast’s than her own.

_“You want me to make you_ _**see something?!”**_

She wasn’t looking for an answer. But if Beryl had tried to give one, she would never know what it was. The relentless pounding in her head and heart reached an agonizing crescendo, and before she knew what was happening, her vision went burning, blinding white.

She did not know how long it was before that whiteness cleared away, and she slowly descended back to reality. She blinked several times, feeling a strange numbness over every inch of her skin, as she remembered bit by bit where she was, and...what she had been doing...

Her hands twitched up in surprise, when she registered that there was still hard, bony shoulders under them. The heavy scents of blood and cold rushed up into her nose again. Without thinking, she looked down, and reflexively recoiled. Her back slammed against the brick wall at the end of the narrow alley as another scream ripped from her throat.

Beryl lay there on the concrete, like a car-struck dog on the side of the road. The flow of blood had stopped, but the stains were still wet on her stomach and hands. Her face was like a grotesque wax sculpture, twisted and frozen into a mask of utter horror, her dull bloodshot eyes bugging out of her head and her mouth stretched inhumanly wide open.

Every inch of her trembling, Emerald forced herself to creep back over to her.

“...M-Mom?”

She didn’t dare get too close. Arm’s length away, maybe a little less. She reached out to hold her hand out in front of the nose and mouth: no breath, no tiny clouds of warmth in the winter. Though every instinct she had told her not to, she leaned in to press her fingers to the neck, but the second her fingertips touched flesh, she scrambled back again with a shriek, heart racing again. She hadn’t been expecting a pulse, not really, and she had known it would be cold but she hadn’t known what it was like to touch something so—

_Dead._

Emerald sprinted for the other end of the alley faster than she had thought possible. Not onto the street, no, someone would see the blood on her legs, her face, her _hands,_ oh, gods, oh, _gods,_ what had she just _done?!_

_What did I make her see?! It’s my fault, it’s my fault, oh my gods, what did I do?!_

Hide. Somewhere to hide. Nowhere was safe, she would never, ever be safe, but...somewhere to hole up for a while. Get this blood off of her, get it _off,_ and then forget…. Sobs shook her body, burning her throat and wracking her chest as she ran. She had to forget, she had to make them stop, she had to get away...get away...

~0~

The first split second after waking up was one of stark, unthinking terror. 

Emerald had no idea where she was, only that it was dark, her chest still hurt, and she was still sobbing her heart out. Gods, why was she doing _that,_ a tiny, disgusted part of her brain protested, she hadn’t done that in—wait—how long had it—?!

There was something soft underneath her, and warm hands sliding under her shoulders that made her jump. She would have leapt up and bolted away, throwing up an illusion behind her to cover her escape, as she did every time she woke up to someone grabbing at her. But the gentle voice murmuring down to her grounded her firmly back in reality.

“Shh, Emerald, Emerald...”

A pitiful whimper came up from her throat, quite without her permission. She glanced down at herself. She wasn’t thirteen years old anymore, but sixteen. There were brand new clothes covering her skin, not blood. No blood. Not anymore. And she wasn’t alone, or in danger. It was Cinder next to her in their tent, Cinder’s eyes looking at her with concern, Cinder’s arm wrapped around her shoulders...

“Emerald, it’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a bad dream.”

Before she could think about what she was doing, she was throwing herself from the bedroll and burying her face in Cinder’s chest. Cinder allowed it, hugging her close with both arms. 

“I...i-it wasn’t a dream! It really happened!”

“What happened?”

Emerald’s breath hitched -- there was so much to tell and she had never breathed a word of it to _anyone,_ ever. But before the walls could come down over the memory again to stop her, it was all spilling out of her mouth like vomit. 

“I, I, my m-mom, she...I u-unlocked my Semblance when—when I was little, and, and I was s-s-so happy, to show her...”

“I should hope so. You have a rare gift.”

What Emerald’s body did was supposed to be a laugh. She choked on another sob instead.

“She...She was _disgusted_ by me. I tried so hard, but...n-nothing I ever did was good. My i-illusions scared her, a-and it made her s-so angry, that I could do that. She...” Her stomach swooped again, and she swallowed hard. “She s-screamed at me, hurt me, called...called me a freak, like my father. And...a-and then k-kicked me out and...I don’t...I don’t _understand!_ What did I do _wrong?!_ Why did she throw me away?!”

“I don’t know, Emerald.” Cinder’s calm and even tone, the hand running soothingly over her hair, only made her cry harder. Here she was, bawling and clinging like a little kid, but Cinder wasn’t angry at her at all. “It was a cruel and foolish thing to do.”

Emerald couldn’t seem to catch a proper breath. “She...she...sh-she thought I was a, a m-monster. And, sh-she was _right!”_

“Now, why would you say that? ‘Monster’ is the last thing I’d ever think about you.”

“I...” She had never said this out loud before, had barely even dared to think it, and it felt like choking up a sharp rock: “I killed her. I-it’s my fault, I killed her!”

Her eyes stung wildly, and she pressed her face harder into Cinder’s chest. For the next few minutes, she tried to speak but couldn’t, while Cinder continued to hold her close and stroke her hair. After that time, when Emerald’s breathing started to calm a little, Cinder gently prodded, “What happened? Was this when she threw you out?”

“N...n-no. I...I was eight when she d-did that. I d-didn’t think I would ever s-see her again, she...she told me to stay away, s-so I did. B-But...Three years ago, I found her, i-in the street. I—I was so scared of her, I _hated_ her, e-ever since I got my guns I’d th-think about shooting her, a-and my dad, all...all the time...”

Cinder hummed sympathetically. “It didn’t happen the way you imagined, did it?”

“S-Someone _actually shot her,_ r-right through her stomach. And it was cold, a-and there was so much blood, a-and I ran over, I...I just wanted to _help...”_

“If she was shot where you say she was, then there was nothing you could have done to save her. It isn’t your fault.”

Emerald shook her head frantically; Cinder wasn’t _understanding._

“She...she thought there was. She...smiled at me. Told me I could...make her see something. S-So when she died, she wouldn’t know she had. She’d forget she was h-hurting. A-And I could have done it. I, I could have done it. B-But...” Cinder waited patiently for her to force it out. “I...I got so _angry._ I was hurting her, just _yelling_ in her face, and then...Everything went all bright, and...Oh, gods, it _hurt!”_

“You used your Semblance, unconsciously. What did you make her see?”

“Th-That’s just it, I don’t _know._ I couldn’t see, it...knocked me out for a minute, I guess? B-But...When I woke up...She was d-dead. She was dead, and she looked _terrified_ of something, a-and I, I know p-people’s hearts can st-stop, if someone scares them that b-b-bad...”

“Well.” Cinder’s voice was carefully level, as if she were trying not to laugh. “She _did_ ask for it.”

Emerald startled slightly in her arms. “But I...She was _dying,_ and she...she was m-my _mom,_ I-I shouldn’t have, I should _never_ have—!”

“Shhh...” Cinder was stroking her hair again, soft and gentle, and Emerald sank into her touch. So warm, so _safe,_ she had never known an embrace like this. Not even her nights of sleeping in her mother’s arms, back in her very earliest memories, had felt like this. “Shh. Questions of should and shouldn’t aside, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t realize what you were doing.”

“I...I...I should have controlled myself. S-Semblances aren’t supposed to do that...”

“It happens. Stress and trauma activating them is very common, actually. And such occurrences aren’t exactly voluntary.”

Emerald tentatively wrapped her arms around Cinder’s waist, and then tightened them into a hug when Cinder did not object. “It was my fault. I sh-should have...I _could have_ just ran away then. Or...ignored her, and...g-gotten her somewhere, maybe. Th-there weren’t any hospitals nearby, and...I didn’t know any back-alley p-people, but...”

“Listen to what I’m saying, Emerald. It was too late before you even reached her.”

“I-I just wanted to _help...”_

“If she wanted your help, she should have kept you, _embraced_ you for everything that you are. But she chose not to.”

Emerald sniffled ungracefully. “I only wanted to make her happy...”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. But you can’t help somebody who doesn’t want to be helped.”

She managed to stifle another whimper, and tried to tense her body up to stop its trembling, but that part wasn’t as successful. “I should have...I-I should have...”

“Shh, now. What’s done is done. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Emerald...wasn’t quite convinced of that, but didn’t want to push whatever vague points she’d been trying to make. Her head felt light and dizzy, and it felt like there was a hard rock in the pit of her stomach. And of course the stream of tears down her face felt as if it would never stop.

“I...I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she mumbled into Cinder’s chest. “I never...I mean, I-I try not to think about it, and I u-usually can. B-but I, I’ve never...just _lost_ it like this. I _swear,_ I’m not really like this. I haven’t c-cried like this since she...”

“I believe you, don’t worry. It’s because you’re safe now that you _can_ talk about it like this. No one will stop you.” Cinder snickered softly, and added, “And the Grimm know to stay away.”

Emerald suppressed a shiver, remembering how Cinder had ordered the hunting Grimm in the woods away from her just the other day. There was no one like Cinder in all of Remnant, she had realized that day. It wasn’t just that she was fearless and strong, but that she had chosen to use that strength to take Emerald under her wing. She couldn’t imagine the warm hands stroking her hair ever yanking it, like her mother had, or the arms holding her so protectively ever turning rough on her. She hugged Cinder tighter; as long as she stayed by her side, she _was_ safe now.

“There’s...a lot to tell. A-and it’s late, I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep you up...”

“Nonsense. You’ve clearly needed someone to lend an ear for a long time, haven’t you?”

“...I guess so. Yes,” Emerald agreed, already trying to organize all her thoughts so they’d come out the right way.

She felt Cinder smile against her hair. “So tell me. Anything you want. You mentioned your father? Why did she think you were like him?”

Emerald took a deep breath, and began...


End file.
